grow up
by Karin Serendipity
Summary: Alder keeps telling Iris that she is far too childish for his liking, especially with her growing fanbase; Iris keeps trying to grow up enough for everyone. BW2. Wishfulshipping.


They met in spring: a wonderful season as the flowers were in full bloom and their sweet scent filtered through the air, carried by a breeze. She was appreciative of the Spring, in her city all the Elders celebrated the welcoming of Spring. Songs were sung and sometimes people danced - Iris danced, she had every year since her third birthday; she was the shinning star: destined for big things.

She was ten with large, maroon-coloured, doe eyes. Her innocence shone in her eyes and all she wanted to do was dance at the celebration. It was not time for her to grow up just yet, but the Elders had informed her that as gym leader she needed to start growing up and mingle with the other gym leaders and trainers; her spirits crashed. Instead of talking to the guests, she had hid in the corner of the place, behind all of the many tables and drunkards whose laughter masked her sobs.

He had crouched in front of her, asking her if she was alright; that only had her fumbling for the words to answer him with. At long last, she explained to him that she wanted to dance, but they wouldn't let her.

"Come on, dance with me then," he encouraged her with an extended hand. For the first time, she looked at this boy: he had stunning green eyes with matching green hair; he was pale and beautiful, so she took his hand.

The only people that slow danced were older or married couples and sometimes there were teenagers. This stranger swayed slowly with her like she was fragile and held her at arms length as gingerly as he could manage.

He thought she was beautiful, perhaps a fallen angel of sorts. Maybe he had fallen in love when he danced with her, or maybe he found another puzzle sitting in the corner alone here at this celebration.

Her skin was like mocha and her eyes were maroon - like a warm fire inside a glass. His mom had something like that; it was a gas lamp with a softly coloured glass surrounding the flame. Her eyes were their own kind of flames and they were shinning brilliantly.

His brothers would be wondering where he had gone off too, but he wasn't prepared to end their dance prematurely.

It wasn't until the dance was over and he had to go back to his family that he asked for her name.

"Iris," she sniffed, smiling at this boy who had been so sweet without knowing a thing about her; he disappeared with a parting smile.

The crowning ceremony was scheduled for today: two in the afternoon, just after lunch. Her presence was mandatory and many were invited to watch the ceremony take place. While she waited, allowing each minute to tick past and herself to grown older and older. She wondered if she'd turn to dust soon and the thought made her lunch turn uneasily in her stomach. It was nerve-racking: the ceremony, the crowd, even her thoughts regarding who would attend and watch her get crowned as Unova Champion.

Alder warned her that this would be a lot different from leading a gym - with the crown would come a certain burdened piled onto her back and he didn't want her to break under all of it. She already could feel it creeping up on her, hanging straight over her head as it waited for the moment where she assumed the responsibility of Champion.

Was he in the crowd? They had formed, waiting for her: just her... Touya was there: Cheren and Bianca were all there because they supported her and wanted to see her in her shinning moment, but was he out there with him? Did he also aspire to see her in her most shinning moment as well?

"I'm scared," she murmured to the empty room; her Pokemon had been taken when she was fitted for her dress this morning. Apparently Pokeballs around her waist weren't attractive; Alder stressed that he wanted her to appeal to the crowd and she wondered why. Her body was lacking: tiny. Plus she was so young, yet they had powdered her cheeks, painted her eyes, and took the ribbons out of her hair.

Older - she looked older, at least he though she did, but she couldn't be over thirteen. He knew her well: knew the way she flushed with anger, beamed with exuberance, and he especially knew how she cared for so many. He was only a minority in her life - something so minuscule that she could easily overlook him...

She walked with strength and hesitance, trying to keep her eyes focused forwards until she made it to the stage. Her feet were so tiny; her arms, so thin. He observed all of this with eyes full of pride and a manic worry that he thought was chronic.

The dress she was wearing had to be more expensive than anything he could ever buy for her. At least it was her favorite colour: a light pink, darker and more vibrant that peach, but more toned down than magenta. He thought she wore it well, but she also looked too filled out for her age: way too old.

At long last, she was standing in the middle of the stage, eyes downcast: trained on her feet until she slowly lifted them...

...and sweet maroon connected with soft green, knocking the air from his lungs.

It was her duty to break the awful news to him. Now she was fifteen, starting to desperately hide behind layers of clothes. Hormones were only there to wreck havoc as she daydreamed about having arms around her. there was a certain loneliness that clung to her lips and her hips until she seemed transparent: invisible.

Silently, she screamed - her whole body shaking - when she heard the news. He wasn't home because he had been running errands for his neighbors who had families and couldn't maneuver across the icy climate as well as a young teen. Her fist had rapped on the door, anxious for the moment when he would come out and she would shatter his world.

She tried to be gentle, but he shrugged her hand off his shoulder and demanded an explanation. Had his brothers gotten hurt? had something happened to their parents? did Cilan do something wrong? the explanation didn't come easily to her, but she muddled through it with her hands uneasily knotted together and hanging uselessly between them.

It was painful watching his face fall from a confused expression to one declaring pain; that had Iris' blood pumping sluggishly through her veins. With every word came a wince, or a whimper, and at one point he had shut his eyes as though the reality of it all was crushing him into a fine powder.

So Iris shut up; closed her mouth and took a step backwards. Then she ran...

He had wanted comfort, but she had fled like a frightened mouse scampering away from a dangerous feline; he didn't want to be dangerous to her.

Every word that her beautiful, full lips formed felt like a dagger digging into his skin.

He watched as she slowly disappeared from his sights, internally he turned the cold hard facts over and over and worried about how his brothers were going to take the news if they didn't already know.

Her skin crawled as though something had buried itself under the first couple of layers. She blamed it on him: the crawling at least and maybe also the accelerated heartbeat that she now possessed. Everyday that had passed all she could remember was the crestfallen look on his face when she had broke the news to him; it haunted her like a secret burden that she didn't know how to talk about with anyone.

All of her days were spent battling, training, and repeating the whole vicious cycle once again; day after day continued passing until she was seventeen with long purple hair cascading down her back in violet ringlets.

He was in town when she did it, completely chopping her long locks off into a small bob; Axew was grown and didn't need her mess of hair anymore. Anyways Alder had warned her that she needed to appear older and more mature for her fans: fellow trainers and gym leaders alike. A haircut was due for her: overdue even.

They had passed; he had stopped and words were quietly passed between them. No real meaning behind anything -

-until he kissed her.

It was unexpected, mostly because he was so timid. Apparently time had aged him, or he was just tired of the games they had been playing. His hands danced on her hips, his thumbs resting on the notches of her hipbones; her hands flitted to his neck and she rested her fingers on his jawline.

Her lips were so soft on his and she tasted of apples (to her, he tasted like home and familiarity.), which had him chuckling as he pulled away from her. And his voice was soft as velvet as he whispered, "I've always loved you."


End file.
